


the dreaming earth

by ac_MaryAgnes



Series: Can Spring Be Far Behind? [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Drama, Gen, Raising Harry Potter, Severus Snape Adopts Harry Potter, Severus Snape does not like dogs, awkward not-flirting, but maybe flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 06:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15943337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ac_MaryAgnes/pseuds/ac_MaryAgnes
Summary: Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves deadAre driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeingFourth year.





	the dreaming earth

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHHHHH! And also: Errrrrrrr. Not sure how well this one turned out but if I look at it any more, I'll go cross eyed.

Michael sat in the cold, metal chair in the Infirmary - one long fingered hand wrapped gently around his son’s - and he watched the boy breathe. The child was sleeping, finally. Turned onto his side and curled into himself, a puckered brow indicated a less than restful state. Michael could battle monsters that lived under the bed or lurked in the closet, but he couldn’t fight the ones that plagued his son’s dreams. So instead, he held the boy’s hand and sat in silent vigil through the night. Or at least, that was the plan. However, Madame Pomfrey bustling over sort of killed that stoic idea.

“Oh Mr Stevens,” she sighed, voice pitched low enough as to not bother her patient. “You really don’t have to stay here all night, you know. Your son will be just fine soon. He’ll be on his way back to your door with his classmates in a week, no lasting harm at all. We can send you home so you can get your house ready for him.”

Michael’s lips thinned in irritation. Obviously, the Headmaster hadn’t seen fit to alert the staff of John Henry’s withdrawal from the school. Perhaps holding out hope he’d change his mind.

“My house is always ready for my son to return, Madame,” his voice was dark in the moonlight that filtered through the windows. “Both of us will be going home tomorrow. And we will not be returning.”

The old matron gasped. “Mr Stevens-“

“You’ve seen my son for the past three years, Madame Pomfrey. I can tell you, he’s never seen the school nurse or required services of any hospital nearly so often as he has since he’s been here. So you tell me: where do you think is safest for my son?”

Madame Pomfrey took a deep breath and let it out slow. “I’ve seen many students during my tenure here, Mr Stevens. Many of them I wish I could keep all year, knowing what I do about their home life. Some of them, like your son, I’d hope for their sake to never return. Yes, your boy has had a rougher time than most, and perhaps he would be better off at home.” She sucked in another breath, seeming to come to a conclusion. “So, up you get. I’ll turn that chair into something more comfortable for you. No sense in you leaving here with a worse opinion than you already have.”

The metal chair was transformed into a plush recliner, and the matron provided a pillow and blanket for Michael as well. Before she left, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“And I have to say, sir, that I’m awfully proud of the man you’ve become. A far cry from the angry boy who left here so long ago.”

With a final pat, she bustled away.

* * *

The next afternoon, while the other students were attending class and he was supposed to be recovering, a man clutching a confiscated parchment map made his way to the Gryffindor Common Room. With bones that ached and skin that screamed at him, Remus forced himself forward. He could hardly believe his eyes.

The smaller set of footprints in the male dormitory was labelled ‘ _John Henry Stevens_ ’, but the larger set across from him was not ‘ _Michael Stevens_.’ There was another name on it, one he had never imagined ever seeing ever again, much less in the Gryffindor dormitories. The map was old; perhaps the magic was wearing down? But it had been right about Peter.... He had to know.

Remus shuffled up the steps to the male third year dormitory taking them one at a time, knuckles white where they gripped the bannister. When he got there, the door was slightly ajar, and a shaking hand pushed it open. As the map had indicated, there were only two occupants in the dorm, both of them focused on packing the smaller one’s steamer trunk. As Remus stumbled into the door jam, the boy’s head jolted up.

“Professor Lupin!”

Michael’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t turn around or stop what he was doing.

“Hello John Henry,” the other man huffed, trying not to show how tired he was. “The Headmaster mentioned you might be going home early, so I figured I’d come and say goodbye.”

He did his best to pay attention to the boy as he chirped and chattered, but Remus’ eyes couldn’t help but stray to the taught back of the man perched on the far side of John Henry’s bed.

‘ _Turn around,_ ’ he begged. ‘ _Let me see your face, you old bastard. Is it really you? We hated you, but you knew us better than anyone. Turn around, damnit._ ’

“Oh, dad,” the boy turned, “this is the professor I told you about – the one who taught us about the bogart and the spell to get rid of the Dementors.”

Sighing to himself, Michael took a quick moment to mentally prepare before he turned around. The face Remus saw was familiar – the nose, the jaw, the eyes were all the same. But the man had changed somehow. The cheeks weren’t sunken, the skin was warmer, the hair cleaner. And his eyes, still beetle black, were kinder than Remus could ever remember them being. The man looked guarded, but he stood with a confidence he’d never had as a boy.

“Professor Lupin,” his dark velvet voice wrapped around the syllables and the hair on the back of Remus’ neck stood on end. “John Henry has spoken highly of you.”

Remus’s brain was still trying to catch up, trying to reconcile the angry youth he’d known to the man in front of him now. Eventually he was able to stutter out a reasonable response. “Ye-yes, Mr Stevens. I-I’m glad to hear it. He’s, uh… Your son has been a pleasure to teach this past year. Anyway, I, um, I just wanted to say goodbye. So, uh. I hope you have a good summer, John Henry.”

“You too, Professor!” the boy chirped as Remus shambled his way back out.

Severus Snape had turned into an incredibly attractive man – settled, confident, and self-possessed – and Remus had no idea what to do with that information other than run away.

* * *

“Wales? What the fuck are we going to _Wales_ for?”

“ _I’m_ going to Wales. You want to stay in London, in your _mother’s_ house, _alone_? Go for it.”

“Aw, hell, Remus. You know I hate that house.”

“You are more than welcome to come with me.”

“But _Wales_?”

“Do you remember that student from this past year? That Weasley boy's friend; the one who left? Well Dumbledore said he isn’t coming back to Hogwarts. We need money and neither of us are particularly employable right now. The boy needs a tutor, so I'm going to Wales.”

“Moony, there’s nothing in Wales but sheep and the farmers who fuck them. What the hell am _I_ going to do in Wales?”

“Get to know the local sheep, I guess. Or Padfoot could.”

 _Sigh_. “Fucking _Wales_.”

* * *

The bell above the shop door jiggled gaily as a new customer walked in. “Just a moment!” Michael shouted from the back workroom. Quickly setting his tools aside, he wiped his hands on his apron as he entered into the main shop. “Yes, can I help… _you_.”

Remus Lupin stood a few feet from the counter, hunched in on himself, somewhat shuffling his feet. His long brown coat had seen better days, and the leather bag at his feet looked like it was about to fall apart. “Hello, Mr Stevens.”

Michael’s face shuttered, becoming a cold and unwelcoming thing. It was such a stark change from how he’d been received back at Hogwarts, collecting John Henry’s things, and it occurred to Remus that the civility might have been solely for his son’s benefit. “What do you want?”

The weary man swallowed hard and seemed to brace himself before taking a step closer. “I… I thought perhaps you might need a tutor for your son, seeing as he’s no longer enrolled at Hogwarts.”

Michael chewed that over for a moment. “And what sort of qualifications do you believe you have that would make you right for the job?”

Lupin smiled and licked his lips. “Well, as you know, I taught at Hogwarts for a year already. I was released due to circumstances beyond my control. I’ve taught several primary school children for wizarding families across Great Britain.”

“I seem to remember hearing something about your _ailing aunt_. Is her illness still plaguing her?”

Lupin’s gaze dropped to the floor, his hands clenching at his sides. “That isn’t something that can be helped, necessarily. But if you take me on, it wouldn’t interfere with your son’s education.”

“And how likely is it that you’ll carry some of that _ailment_ with you?”

Hot tawny eyes shot up in a hateful glare. “No one needs to worry about that,” he declared through clenched teeth. Goddamn that infuriating man. So much for leaving school days behind them. 

“No?” Michael sneered. “You ask to spend considerable amounts of time with my impressionable son and I shouldn’t worry about the possibility of his _catching_ your _disease_?”

Lupin huffed out a breath hard through his nostrils, jaw clenched so tight Michael wondered if his teeth would break. “And what about your disease? Huh? Pining over a woman who was never yours? Imagine what an example you might've been teaching your own son. Lying to some poor woman, letting her believe you loved her. Probably a good thing she isn’t here to find out the only reason you ever wanted her.”

Whatever Michael had been expecting as an answer, it hadn’t been that. As soft and lethal as a velvet cushion used to smother a prince, Severus breathed out two words: “Excuse you?”

“You think I haven’t noticed the boy’s eyes? The colour, the shape of them? The shape of his face, or his smile? How you found anyone who looks so much like Lily to be his mother, I have no idea. But the resemblance is… it’s remarkable. He could be Harry’s brother.”

The response was a quick and sharp retort. “John Henry is no one’s brother, Lupin.”

And suddenly, several pieces fell into place: Severus’ disappearance; the resemblance of the boy to Lily; the way Harry Potter was conspicuously absent from Hogwarts. The werewolf nodded to himself a few times and an odd expression passed over his face.

“Yes, because he is Harry.”

Severus’ head shot up, black eyes wide. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“John Henry – he’s actually Harry Potter. I thought you’d just found a stand-in for Lily at first,” Lupin admitted with a quiet laugh, “but this makes sense, too. He looks so much like you and Lily, but when he speaks it’s like listening to James all over again. And sometimes he’ll get a look on his face, just like James would….” Lupin scratched his cheek as he considered the rapidly paling man in front of him. “You changed him, somehow. I remember from when he was a baby, and he should look more like his father.”

Severus took several shallow breaths, leaving him dizzy and reeling. This wasn’t happening; this was a nightmare. He needed Lupin to leave.

“Get out. Now.”

Lupin shrugged to one side and shook his head. “I just-“

“ **NOW**!” A gale force wind whipped up between the two men and Lupin was pushed backwards towards the door. 

Immediately, Remus realised his misstep. "Severus!” 

“ ** _GET! OUT!_** ”

The bell above the door jingled violently as it shuddered on its hinges, closing sharply with the werewolf on the other side.

* * *

It wasn’t until a ministry owl arrived detailing the laws against truancy that Michael acquiesced. No other magical tutors had returned his inquiries, and so he was stuck. He had to meet with Lupin.

Arranging to meet in the office behind the shop was both easy and nerve-wracking. Michael didn’t want anyone from that world infringing upon the life he’d built for himself or his son, but there was no other place to meet where they wouldn’t be overheard. His stomach was roiling as Lupin sat across from him, and Michael seethed silently before figuring out what he was going to say.

“Before I agree to anything, you need to understand that I will not have you spying to Dumbledore with information regarding John Henry’s schooling, or anything else. My son and my life are no longer his concern – I don’t care what you think of the man.”

Lupin, willing to agree to anything to regain even the smallest bit of the friend he’d lost, shook his head. “Albus has done me a few favours over the years, but as a teacher, I can’t disclose information about a student to anyone who isn’t directly involved with the care of that student.”

“And you will keep all notions of exposing what you believe regarding the heritage of my son to yourself. John Henry is my son, and he is happy and well cared for. I am his father. You will not undermine that.”

“I… I would never do that on purpose.”

“You won't do it at all. I know about the prophecy, I know Dumbledore had some sort plan for James Potter’s son. John Henry is _not_ that child and I will _not_ have that mantle placed on him. He is a bright boy, a smart and kind boy. Whatever happens will happen because of _this_ life he has led, not because some old coot with a pointy hat has designs on my son’s happiness and future. I will not have him groomed for some nefarious, nebulous maybe, Lupin.”

“I would never-“

“You are in charge of his magical education and that is it. I won’t have you encouraging the dangerous behaviour you and your… posse exhibited while we were in school.”

“Mr Stevens,” Lupin interrupted, his voice strong and insistent as he placed both hands on the table between them. “If what I think is true, than all I’d ever want is to ensure John Henry’s safety. You are his father; I know that.” However much it seemed to pain him to admit it. “When I was his teacher, he spoke incredibly highly of you, and I know you have done the best at parenting him as you possibly could. The very idea of putting that boy into any kind of dangerous situation… it physically pains me to even think it.” Lupin paused, kind tawny eyes searching the face of the man he’d once known. He lowered his voice and leaned close across the space between them.

“I’ll teach the standard curriculum, Michael. I promise, that’s all I’ll do. I just want to get to know him a little more. He’s the last link I have to… to James. And to Lily. I wouldn’t jeopardize that, not for anything.”

Severus had to take several deep breaths to stave off the wave of dizzy nausea that swept over him. He wanted to run. He wanted to take his son and run and hide and never, ever, ever, ever, ever come back. But that wasn’t the right thing, not for John Henry.

“You’ll start next week.”

Lupin’ smile was a tired and crooked thing, relief lighting his face like the rising sun, and Michael told himself this was the right thing to do – this is what Lily would have done. “Thank you, Mr Stevens.”

* * *

“What?” Christopher popped up from his spot on the grass. This was no conversation to have lying down. “Flying brooms?”

Eyes on the clouds above him, John Henry nodded. “Yup. And magic potions, spells and curses… it’s all real.”

Alfie’s face screwed up, mind critical. “And you decided to leave it? For _here_?”

“He said it’s bad at that school,” Seamus reminded him. “People dying and attacking him and his friends. I’d come home, too, no matter _how_ cool it’d be to learn all that shit.”

“Well, yeah,” Alfie allowed. “But it can’t be like that _all_ the time.”

Shoulder blades rubbing against the grass in a horizontal shrug and green eyes trained on the clouds above him, John Henry considered. “Quidditch was pretty cool. And Potions was easy – just like what dad and I do at the shop, but more chemistry. Herbology was fun, too. But… a professor attacked me my first year, my friend Ron’s sister almost died my second, and last year a murderer went after my friend and doom ghosts hung around giving everyone nightmares. ‘S not worth it. I spent more time last year in the hospital wing than I did in class. If it weren’t for Hermione and Ron, I wouldn’t’ve learned anything.”

“When are they coming?” Christopher asked, falling back to the grass on his stomach.

“Ron’s dad is taking them to some sporting thing early next week – the magic version of the World Cup – but they should be by sometime that weekend.”

“They didn’t ask you to go with them?” Alfie asked. “I thought they were your friends.”

“Well yeah, they asked me,” John Henry hedged. “But you know… you’re my friends, too.”

“Awwww,” Seamus razzed, rolling over to smother his friend’s head into the grass. “He’s missed us!”

Alfie and Christopher piled on and as laughter filled the summer air, John Henry knew he’d made the right decision. He didn't need the world of magic, not when his world was perfect just as it was.

* * *

Remus Lupin and his dog Padfoot were given the same standoffish side-eyeing Michael and John Henry were given when they moved into town, which – for Michael – was incredibly gratifying. And he got to participate, which was even better.

Being a naturally friendly child, John Henry was far more open with his new tutor. Yes, the man was a werewolf and John Henry had to run for his life from him that one time, but Mr Lupin was normal the rest of the time. And nice. And his dad had him read up on werewolves and the wolfsbane potion before he even started lessons with the man, so now that he knew what all that _actually_ meant, it was fine.

But Mr Lupin was friends with Sirius Black, who had bitten Ron, murdered Ron’s not-rat, and could transform into a big fuckoff dog. A dog suspiciously like the one Mr Lupin had brought with him. And that was… no. Just no.

John Henry had attempted to keep his thoughts and feelings on the matter to himself, but things sort of came to a head one Friday when Remus brought his dog to work. Padfoot stayed outside tied up to a bike post, bowl of water within easy reach, but his presence loomed large all the same. John Henry would have had to pass him to get to the back workroom where he had his lessons. Michael watched his son fly down the steps only to pull up short at the corner. That was when Michael noted the large shadow crouched on the sidewalk.

He’d have to talk to Lupin about that.

That evening, after reviewing John Henry’s lessons for the day, Michael put a kettle on and took a few deep breaths. He would go about this the way Lily would want him to, rather than bend to the instinct to lash out and make demands. As always, her memory necessitated better of him, and Michael would strive to live up to her expectations. Also, Remus was surprisingly reasonable about most things. 

“Since moving to this town, I’m sure you’ve heard tell of Mr Jones’ sheep getting into the school yard?” Michael asked, setting a cup of tea down in front of his son’s tutor.

Remus ducked his head in a nod. “Yeah, I was wondering about that. There’s a few Jones’ around town, aren’t there? How do you keep track?”

Michael lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “Only one Jones has sheep that get into the school yard.”

“Ah.”

“When that happens, a few of us often go over and help him round the beasts all up and fix his fence. It’s always been one of John Henry’s favourite events.” Michael’s fingers tightened around his teacup.

“You see, Mr Jones of the escaping sheep has two dogs: Penny and Yorkie. John Henry has known them since they were all pups. Whenever the fence would break, I’d bring John Henry and after the sheep were all penned, he’d keep the dogs occupied while we mended the fence. I am not and will never be of any kind of disposition to welcome a dog into our home, but I’ve never seen the harm in allowing my son to play those of others. Particularly Penny and Yorkie.” Michael took a deep breath and kept his gaze on the liquid in his cup.

“Since returning from Hogwarts, I’ve noticed somewhat of a decline in John Henry’s interest regarding Mr Jones' dogs, and those belonging to others. It struck me as odd until today.” Turning hard glittering eyes onto the other man, Michael spoke with a stern voice. “You would do well to keep _your_ dog away from John Henry.”

Lupin gaped at him, mentally collecting himself. “Mr Stevens-“

“No. He knows that dog – knows what it can do – and is terrified of it. It has coloured how he interacts with other animals he formerly enjoyed. You _will_ keep your dog away from my son.”

Taking a deep breath and clenching his hands in his lap, Lupin countered: “He’s not a criminal, Michael. And he has never attacked John Henry.”

Michael’s nostrils flared as he attempted to maintain his composure. “While I’m sure the animal is very proud of itself for not attacking _one_ innocent boy, the fact remains that John Henry has seen it attack another. He has also seen that dog kill. You _will_ keep it away from my son.”

Lupin seemed to chew that over a while. He shifted closer and when he spoke again, it was with a quite, pleading voice. “What if I introduced them slowly? I haven’t told him anything yet, but Sirius deserves to know his godson, Michael, the last part of our friends. They’re family, even if neither of them knows it. He’ll only be a dog – I won’t let him transform, I swear. He hates that he has to be a dog nearly all the time already, but I’ll make him understand. Please, Michael.”

A strong, warm hand connected with Michael’s arm, physically beseeching him to bend on just this one thing. Hard black eyes stared into liquid, tawny gold and were unmoved.

“I said no.”

Because if he gave in even a little, even the smallest amount, everything would come undone. Black would see any green light as an allowance to do whatever he pleased, and Severus simply couldn’t risk it.

* * *

Summer bled into fall, and letters from Ron Weasley bemoaned the lack of quidditch in favour of some international wizarding school tournament.

‘ _At least the French girls are pretty,_ ’ he wrote one day in November. ‘ _There’s one that’s prettier than all the rest, but I don’t stand a chance. I’m not charming like Bill or Charlie or funny like the twins. And besides, she’s the champion for her school – no way could I get close enough to talk to her_.’

Letters from Hermione were peppered with study recommendations and the odd behaviour of the new DADA professor.

‘ _He’s started to teach us about the Unforgivables, which I find grossly inappropriate for our skills level – they’re usually reserved for seventh years – but any attempt to bring this up to Professor McGonagall has been waylaid thus far by Viktor Krum. You remember – the Bulgarian Seeker? I don’t believe it’s his fault, truly. It’s just that the Durmstrang school has taken over the Transfiguration rooms for their lessons, so he’s always fairly close to Professor McGonagall’s office when I try to speak with her. And that little posse of giggling girls follows him wherever he goes – how can he stand it?! I surely wouldn’t. Anyway, there’s a section in our Muggle Studies textbook that I really think you’ll get a kick out of about washing machines. I’ve included a copy of the chapter for you in this letter. I laughed so hard…_ ’

And John Henry’s letters were similar – girls, sports, classes with Mr Lupin.

‘ _Emily Moss told me she liked my hair today, and I think that might mean she’ll say yes if I ask her to the winter dance this year. She went with Tommy Owens last year and I heard he was a real asshole to her. Oh, and tell Dean his team sucks without him. We played a free game with them over the weekend and it was seriously a shit show. It was almost pathetic how badly we clobbered them. Dad let Mr Lupin come, and that was kinda cool, but he brought his dog. I'm sure you remember, Ron - the big fuckoff dog from last year? But dad made him keep it tied up away from the pitch, so that was okay. I think Mr Lupin’s gonna come to the rest of my games, which would be cool. Dad and I were explaining the game to him and he caught on really fast. He’s super smart, you know. I mean, of course you know – he was our teacher all last year. But he’s smart about more than just sports and Defence. You should see him with Transfiguration. I’ve included some of his lectures for you – they’re pretty brilliant. Anyway, Alfie, Seamus and Christopher all say hi and they hope you guys can visit over your Winter Hols. I do, too._ ’

* * *

The Winter Hols saw a flurry of visits for the Stevens’.

Both John Henry and Michael were invited to the Burrow for dinner one evening, much to the man’s astonishment. The Weasley’s were, as always, warm and welcoming. The twins started a snowball fight in the back yard; Molly made a feast fit for 40 guests (even though there were only about 10); Arthur quizzed Michael about all sorts of muggle things (ovens vs. toaster ovens vs. toasters vs. microwaves: why do muggles need all of them?). Both Stevens men went home with full bellies and handmade knitwear.

When Hermione and Ron visited the flat above the shop, it was like a herd of elephants had moved in. Alfie, Seamus and Christopher were regular visitors as it was, but adding two more children into the mix was almost more than Michael could stand. Remus was a surprisingly useful asset that day, running interference and encouraging a decrease in volume by ushering them outside for sledding, a snowman-building contest, and another snowball fight. All of which he participated in because the man was practically a child in himself.

“Thanks for letting me help out today,” Remus sighed once the others had gone and John Henry had finally trouped off to bed. The men were slumped on the couch, Remus being far more sore than he’d expected to be. “Merlin, that Alfie – kid’s got an arm on him that’d make a Keeper weep.”

“Got you with a good one, did he?” Michael inquired, watching Remus rub a spot on his chest.

“Did he ever,” the other man grumbled, but gave Michael a smile anyway. “I haven’t had that much fun in a long time.”

Michael took a deep breath and leaned back. “I suppose your help was appreciated. They were… far more energetic than I could have tolerated on my own.”

“Nah,” Remus shook he head, soft smile quirking his lips to the side. “You’d’ve done fine. That stew you made was fantastic, by the way. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised what a good cook you are, considering.”

Michael hummed and wondered what he was supposed to do next. Thankfully, the other man supplied the answer. “I could go for a nightcap, though, if you’ve got time.”

Michael thought for a moment and nodded. Hands pushing off his thighs, he heaved himself off the couch and towards the sideboard. “Scotch should be alright for you, given your… _prescriptions_.”

“I’ll take it if you have it,” the tutor nodded at Michael’s back. Something tickled at Michael’s awareness as he handed a snifter to Remus, their fingers brushing as the glass transferred hands.

Ignoring it, he wondered: “How, uh… how are you doing with your monthly supply?”

Remus’ back straightened, wide eyes blinking. “Uh… Dumbledore has Slughorn providing it once a month. And I have Sirius to help out if the batch is… less than standard.”

“Well,” Michael coughed, “anyone could brew better than that old Slug. I’m sure if I had the right ingredients, rusty as I am I’d still out do him.”

Remus watched him carefully. “Would you? If I could get them to you?”

Michael, eyes on the drink he held, grunted and shrugged his shoulders. Aiming for a confident laissez-faire attitude, he landed somewhere closer to grumpy acquiescence and Remus had to hide a smirk by ducking his head.

“Well, that would be quite a favour I’d owe you, should you be able to pull it off.”

Michael scoffed. “I could do it in my sleep, Lupin.”

“Could you make it taste better?”

“Like it would even be all that hard.”

“How about like chocolate?”

With a ‘give me some credit, please’ look on his face, Michael his body to face Remus a little more fully. “Dark or milk?”

The man gapped for a moment. “Uh… milk. Like a Mars bar. Or a Cadbury Egg.”

Michael tsk’d and pushed his back into the arm of the couch. “Not even a challenge.”

* * *

The end of spring brought the unofficial return of Voldemort, and Michael Stevens’ life ground to a halt.

John Henry was finishing his Welsh homework when a large ghost-like bird flew through the kitchen window. Dumbledore’s voice poured out of the opened beak.

“My boy, I believe I’m in need of some council.” John Henry’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline as he stared at his father. “It’s begun again, Severus.”

Ice froze the blood in Michael’s veins, and he began to feel light headed. He’d felt a pinch on his arm earlier that night but had ignored it; old curses twinged and wreathed under the skin – it was a known fact. But now, realization rushed in and Severus went numb.

“One hour,” he heard himself command. “In the shop.”

Dumbledore’s patronus nodded solemnly and with a whoosh of white mist, it was gone.

At the dining table, John Henry swallowed. “Dad? What was that?”

Michael forced himself back into the present and cleared his throat. “That was Albus Dumbledore being overly dramatic, as always.”

“That bird called you ‘Severus,’” the boy said. “Is that… is that like a code name? From when you were a spy?”

Black eyes stared at John Henry, surprise warring with fear. His boy was incredibly smart. “Very nearly something like that. But, um… you need to finish your homework, son. You said you were stuck on participles?”

* * *

“Petunia Dursley." In the semi-dark of the back office, Albus sighed. “I found out she’d been kidnapped earlier this week. I thought it had been a fluke – perhaps she’d finally left her husband. The man is quite the bully; it wouldn’t have been all that surprising. But tonight, I found differently.”

Suddenly looking as old and tired as he really was, the headmaster slumped onto a nearby stool. “I’m sure John Henry has been receiving missives from his young friends this year detailing the TriWizard Tournament and the new Defence professor. The school was incredibly grateful Alastor Moody agreed at all, you know, surly old fool that he is. Today – or I suppose it would be yesterday by now – the chosen champions faced their final trial of the tournament: a hedge maze. We put it on the quidditch pitch; it was the only real spot for it, you know. Young Mr Diggory, Mr Krum, and Ms Delacour made a marvellous entry, each of them. But, somehow, something changed. Alastor Moody, I thought… I thought he’d been beside me the whole time, but then he was gone. He had been acting strange all year, but I'm sure you remember how he was. I had been _so_ sure.... There was a commotion in the maze, two sets of safety flares went up, and all of a sudden…”

Albus’ blue eyes, now grey with grief, stared unseeing into the shadows behind Michael. “There was a flash of green light and a body floated up into the air, right in the centre of the field. Our very own young Mr Diggory. And a voice called out the return of Lord Voldemort, the Dark Mark lighting the sky.

“There’s a spell, Severus; a dark one – _very_ dark – that can return a body to a soul. Bone of the father; flesh of the servant; blood of the enemy. As Harry Potter still hasn’t been located, his aunt was taken. We found her, not too long ago, tied to a grave marker in Little Hangleton. The blood she shares with her nephew, used to restore Voldemort.”

Michael’s breath left his lungs as he slumped against a worktable, knees weak. “Is she…”

“Alive,” the headmaster assured his former spy. “Wounded and badly beaten, nearly exsanguinated but alive. She’s resting now at the Weasley’s home. There’s some debate as to whether or not we should remove the ordeal from her mind – living with those memories would most likely do her more harm than good.”

“No,” Michael interjected. “I know it seems wrong, but altering her mind…. There are muggle resources, doctors who dedicate their lives to helping others cope with trauma like that. Playing with her mind wouldn’t be fair.” And it could crack the seal he’d put on her mind surrounding the whereabouts of her nephew, which Severus really couldn’t risk.

Albus looked at him carefully for a moment, but finally nodded. “I’ll take that into consideration, my boy. There is now, though, the fact that Voldemort has returned. Now, we must pool our own resources and defeat him once and for all.”

Severus’ spine became rigid as the blood drained from his face, hard black eyes cutting to his old headmaster. “Now you listen here, old man-“

“The wizarding world needs you, Severus.”

He shook his head. “No. No they don’t.”

“Severus-“

Severus cut a hand through the air, stopping the man’s pleas before they even started. “I’m not coming back, not for you, not for anyone. I’ve left that life behind me. It’s finished.”

“They’ll come for you.”

“Only if they can find me. I’m not one of your plucky Gryffindors, Albus – I have no qualms leaving this whole continent behind if that’s what it takes to keep my son and myself safe.”

“We need someone on the inside.”

“Then turn your machinations on to someone who’s already there. Corbin Yaxley, Igor Karkaroff, Thorfinn Rowle; if I remember correctly, all of them have reason enough to turn against him if you find the right button. Hell, if you thought long enough, you could probably even turn Rookwood back to the side of light and good and whatever it is you’re selling.” Severus paced back and forth across the shop’s office. “Besides that, I’ve already ignored the call twice now. If I suddenly show up after that, what do you think will happen, hmm? I’ll be welcomed with open arms, no questions asked? Slip right back into his inner circle, ready and able to feed you all his nasty secrets? Not _bloody_ likely.”

Albus opened his mouth to respond, but an urgent knock at the door made him pause.

“Michael?” Remus Lupin’s voice was a harsh, muffled whisper against the wood. “Michael, are you there?”

Taking a steadying breath, Michael crossed the room and opened the door just wide enough for the other man to slip through.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Remus breathed, and moved as if he were going to embrace the man but quickly thought better of it. “Sirius and I got a letter from Arthur this evening and I had to come over. Are you alright? You didn’t go, did you?”

“Remus,” Albus sighed, bringing the man’s attention suddenly to him. “I’ve already attempted to persuade Severus to return to us, but he seems quite firm to remain.”

Tawny eyes blinked for a moment, then looked back at Michael.

“Good,” he said with a nod, swallowing back his fear as relief washed over his face. “Very good. You and John Henry are safest here, where they don’t know where you are. We can set up more wards-“

“Not going to try to tempt me back?” Michael asked, not able to stop the sneer that better fit a younger, harder version of himself.

Remus gave him a truly baffled frown. “Why would I do that? It’s dangerous. And if you already said you weren’t going to, there’s no point in asking again. I know how stubborn you are.”

Michael shoved a hand, palm up, at Remus and sent a glare at the headmaster. “See? Even your werewolf knows better. Whatever is going on, you can leave me out of it.”

“Lucius Malfoy already knows you exist _somewhere_ , my boy,” Albus sighed. “And he knows you have a child. Do you truly believe your old associate will keep that information to himself?”

“Oh Albus,” Remus scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m here, Sirius is here, and Michael is not without his own talents. We’re perfectly capable of maintaining our own safety if it comes to that.”

“And if you’re worried about Malfoy, lean on Narcissa,” Michael added. “Win her over, and Lucius is bound to follow. I’m sure he’ll slide right into your pocket with her prodding him along.”

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHHHHH!
> 
> And yes, Madame Pomfrey knows everything. She's Madame freakin' Pomfrey. The End. 
> 
> Also, I know canonically that wolfsbane shouldn't be able to taste any better than it is, but I think that's just because Severus is an asshole who wanted Remus to suffer a bit, so he said it couldn't be altered without nullifying it's properties. I think if he'd taken the stick out of his ass, he'd've been able to make it taste better. And naturally, no one else is thoughtful enough to try.
> 
> I really don't know how fifth year is going to go. I'm absolutely stumped. Suggestions welcome.


End file.
